


Golden Queen; Red Palace

by snarry_splitpea



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Bloodplay, Clothed Sex, Cunnilingus, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Infidelity, Masturbation, Menstruation Kink, Mention of blood but not use of it in sex, Mind Sex, Object Insertion, Rape Fantasy, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violent Thoughts, Watersports, cervix stimulation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9056428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarry_splitpea/pseuds/snarry_splitpea
Summary: The lack of interest Percival Graves had in Queenie Goldstein, even before she was married, seemed almost sad to her.  His every thought trudged by her head as if endlessly marching to the tune of work, sleep, and work again. So, when she witnesses a pair of red shoes grabbing his attention, she becomes nearly addicted to the perversion of his thoughts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sportivetricks (tamlane)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamlane/gifts).



> Honestly, there are probably so many more tags I should put here... but I don't want to scare you off or make promises I don't really keep. Due to Queenie's gift, she -hears- about things that don't actually happen in the story. I hope that makes sense and that IF YOU ARE SQUICKED OR TRIGGERED BY LITERALLY ANYTHING you will choose a different story to read. I, honestly, tried my best on the tagging but would rather you be safe & happy than come here and experience something negative. Love you!

Queenie was starting to really enjoy her job. It had never been particularly fun, but it had also managed to never be too taxing. After all, she was only in the wand permit office to make coffee and look pretty. Or, at least, that's what her boss thought of her assignment. Tina, who had some clout, had recommended her for the position.  So, she'd spent most of her workdays ignoring the monotonous droning of minds busy at the task of permit making.

The fresh enjoyment came, not from Queenie's work, but from Tina's boss.

Percival Graves.

Queenie could hear his thoughts through office walls, sometimes. Well, she could hear tons of peoples' thoughts through all walls in all buildings. It was just that, she listened out for and paid attention to his. She'd learn to pick his mind's voice out of the crowd. Isolate it. Amplify it.

Percival's mind was curse words, derisive thoughts about most superiors, frequent checks on the cleanliness of his shoes, and a stern kind of care for all of his subordinates. It was numbers, spells, and lists. It was work. Perfunctory. Automatic. Routine. Work.  Queenie should have found it boring.  Might have, if he were less of a man.

After Grindelwald's attempts to start a war in New York, she'd been introduced to Percival Graves for the first time. Oh, sure she'd seen him around.  Yet, she'd never been able to pick his thoughts out of a crowd. After all, she didn't know how he felt.  How he sounded.  Seeing him, up close, in the court room had been overwhelming.

Queenie immediately realized she'd met many men who were sweeter, significantly so... but none near as handsome. There was an intensity to Percival's aquiline nose and brush-bristle brows that made him intimidating. Invigorating.  Those looks paired with the strictly-business, focused nature of his thoughts; Graves was an enticing puzzle for Queenie. His -only- thought about her with her fitted top and painted face had been "She and Tina look very different."

Even in that moment, where his future lie in the hands of the Magical Congress, his fears were only of dismissal from work. His mind was on the cases Grindelwald may have interrupted or somehow bungled.  He noted that he couldn't see his shoes beneath the witness stand.  Queenie wanted to hear his real fears!  His real worries.  About survival. About love. The ones most people had.  No, he spent hours sitting silently through proceedings, worrying about this file and that.  ...and she was, Merlin help her, enthralled.

Queenie wouldn't call what she felt for Graves, a crush.  A crush was what she'd had on Jacob, the no-maj she'd secretly married and, now, secretly lived with.  No, with Percival it was... well, and this was probably all Tina's fault.  Tina had idolized the man from the day she was hired. For several years, not a night passed without her gushing over dinner about how great a boss he was.  So, yes.  It was Tina's fault that Queenie wanted to... _well_...

Queenie wanted to humanize Percival.  Catch a glimpse of him thinking something unrelated to his work.  Find out he worried about leaving the stove on or something equally droll.

Months had passed since they'd first spoken to each other in that courtroom.  Months had passed since she'd, at Tina's instruction, secretly scanned Percival's mind for any indication that he'd voluntarily traded spaces with Gellert Grindelwald.  She'd seen his memories of being petrified, bound, stripped, and tortured.  She'd had to hide the pity she felt as Graves looked President Seraphina Picquery in the eye and stated he was ready to return to work. Eager to.

Queenie had nodded at Newt to confirm Percival's innocence, then.  After all, nobody else in the room except for Newt and Tina had known that she could read minds.  The small group intended to keep it to themselves.

That's how Queenie lived her life. Hiding her gift. Going to work. Running her errands.  Living cheerfully and fighting the urge to flinch as minds around her shouted. Sometimes, she wanted to shout back at them.  Tell them what terrible people they were.

Yet, more often than not, she was lured to their depravity.  She'd spent her entire life picking up images of fetishes and affairs she'd never imagined. An uncle leering at his niece as she picked out toys in a department store.  A husband wishing he could admit to his wife how he fantasized about licking her during a particular time of month. A lonely flapper making plans to stumble through the docks, at night, hoping to lure an assailant to force her towards pleasure.  Queenie sickened herself, at times. Ashamed and aroused by what people could dream up.  
  
But what she'd learned from decades of listening was the fact that most times, minds **_just_** _talked_.

They went to the worst places and then filtered out what was illegal, immoral, and disappointing on their own. The doting uncle's thoughts turned into self-abasement. To shame. He pictured the youngest girl he'd ever bedded. A healthy and happy partner of two and twenty. The lusting husband's mind sighed at what his sex life had always and would forever lack. The flapper made plans to meet an ex to scratch her itch instead of risking death at the hands of strangers.

It was the habit of self-sanitation that Queenie tended to hate in the people around her.  Not that she'd encourage or even approve of them ever taking action on their whims. It was just hard to enjoy being a voyeur when they minds she watched reminded her just how transgressive her desires were.

Even her love for Jacob was spawned by what he'd wanted her to do to him. How he'd internally moaned to himself about bowing at her feet while wearing a silk negligee of his own. He'd been so relieved when she'd winked in recognition and agreement.

Everyone seemed to have private desires except Percival Graves.

So, it caught Queenie completely off-guard when, while waving Jacob goodbye near the MACUSA entrance, she heard Graves's mind make salacious remarks about the height and color of her shoes.

"Honey, are you ok," Jacob asked.  The smile on his cherubic face a little tremulous as he walked over to give her hand a fortifying squeeze.

She smiled, immediately. Habitually.  Not sure what face or noise she'd made to indicate her distraction in the first place. "Oh, I'm fine.  Just hearing things, as usual."

"Anyone I need to lay a wallop on? I'd do it for ya, doll," Jacob offered in a whisper.  His smile turned genuine and he perked a brow at her.  The two of them were playfully scrappy in bed and in humor.  Always joking about taking on the world, together.  Aurors come knocking to pull the witch from his no-maj home?  They'd punch them. No-maj preachers come knocking to purge the witch? They'd punch them. Newt lets another one of his creatures get too nippy with Jacob's neck... well... they'd never explicitly said to each other that they'd punch Newt. He was a friend, after all. But, they probably would. Simultaneously. The man was adorable, but he deserved a good thrashing.  Queenie had never been brave enough to suggest they punch -each other- and Jacob would never dream of hurting her. How utterly tedious.

"Oh, I know you would, dear.  But, no.  Just one a little louder than usual.  Nothing bad," she lied with a wink.  He always lost himself when she turned up the charm.

It was, at least, partially true.  There really was nothing bad, to Queenie, about hearing Percival Graves notice that her heels were too high for a decent workplace. That her feet would likely hurt by the end of the day.  ...that she looked _fuckable_ in red. Crude, yes.  But an absolute delight. Exactly what she'd been waiting months to witness. Finally, the man showed a little hot blood and human emotion!  She wondered if she should tell Tina.

Queenie left Jacob's side with a chaste kiss to his cheek and jogged to catch up with Percival as he disappeared into the hidden building.

"Good morning, Mister Graves!"

Silently, he turned his head toward her.  Looked her directly in the eye instead of up and down like most men did. Queenie heard his thoughts trying to place her face. He finally settled on "The other Goldstein."  It wasn't the first time she'd heard him think of her as "Not Tina."  She suppressed a sigh.

"Wonderful weather, we're having," she chirped.  Her eyelashes fluttering, as always. She couldn't help but flirt.

Fully expecting his mind to immediately leap over to work, Queenie was, again, startled when Percival's thoughts dipped to her shoes. She watched him feign a smile and speak his agreement, but his thoughts indicated that he wondered if she wore high heels on every warm,dry day.  If Red was in fashion or if she was some kind of pay for play lady after hours. Is this how she lured her Johns? How she supplemented the abysmal pay of the Permit Office? Was she an expensive fuck?

He wondered if he could afford her. How much she'd charge to let him beat and bite her back and shoulders until she was covered in red marks.

Queenie couldn't help but blink and sputter as his eyes searched her face.  Making passionless notes about the clarity of her skin.  The brightness of her eyes. The fullness of her lips.  She heard remarks, all the time, about how pretty she was.  How angelic. How charming. She'd never been picked apart so intimately. Had never expected to hold up under such scrutiny.

But Percival seemed to have made some sort of mental checklist about her appearance just as he did about workflow and criminal cases. Came to the conclusion that she was probably pretty when she cried.  She strained for more.  To find out if he wanted to be the reason she'd cry.  If he wanted to do something disgusting and arousing like lick tears from her cheeks and chin.  Oh, but he was suddenly distracted.  That trail of thought gone to pieces.

"Are you unwell, Ms. Goldstien?"

"Mrs. Ko...," she almost corrected. Queenie always, joyfully, corrected No-majs.  She wore the ring around them, too. At work, however, only her closest friends knew she was in a relationship, though they didn't know with whom.  She felt sad that Percival hadn't known. That they'd had their lives irrevocably tangled by the events of months ago but hadn't managed to become friends, yet.

Finally gaining control over her face, she managed not to indicate that she heard him think what a treat it would be to fuck another man's wife. To make sure the man at home saw bruises that could only come from his great, big hands. To take his fill and leave her emotional baggage and care to some other sad sap. She wanted to be annoyed that Mister Graves thought her emotional and in need of care. Then again, Tina was loads of both, despite her strengths, and he likely thought them similar. Not to mention he thought the same of everyone around him whether they were female or not.  Too many needs.  Too many emotions.

To be attractive to Graves, at all, she'd need to be cold as ice. Serious as sin. Queenie wondered what kind of people he'd been with in the past. Knew how to ask leading questions for certain thought patterns to appear. She smiled. "Are you married, Mister Graves?"

Memories of fucking Theseus Scamander flooded forth. The other man's mouth filled with a gag as Graves held his hair with one hand and his hip with the other. A regrettable kiss with President Picquery. Graves was fully dressed but her robes were around her waist. Had they...?  Graves conjuring a flower for Credence Barebone as the older man's socked foot dug into the boy's crotch at a diner. Graves knew the waitress had noticed but silently dared her to stop him. Queenie's red shoes on the pavement, outside. His eyes traveling up the back of her legs and fixating on the seam of her stockings.

"You're late clocking in, Mrs..." he let the sentence trail off, realizing he no longer knew any part of her name. He finally took the all too familiar sweeping glance that most men did. Head to toe. Chest. Lips. Eyes. With a purposeful stride, the man simply walked away. 


	2. Chapter 2

Queenie Goldstein couldn't concentrate.  Not on un-jinxing the toilet in the Permits department. Not on making coffee for her colleagues. Not on sitting down and smiling vapidly at her employer as he touched himself under his desk.  The man assumed, incorrectly, that his shoulder movements were discreet. He also assumed, also incorrectly, that she was too innocent to understand what he was doing if she did notice. Queenie sighed. People's tendency to underestimate her was exactly why she got away with so much... which made it hard to feel guilty for her tricks.

She didn't want to think anything uncomfortable about people of different races. In fact, she'd never spoken these observations, out loud, but Goblins that didn't get to work around money or at least own a decent amount of precious metals always seemed a little too on edge.  Their minds fell into a constant state of anxiety and they made decisions quickly and irrationally.  

She'd met bank goblins, before.  They seemed unnaturally calm. Their minds the same as humans on opiates. Yet, their decision making vastly improved with the high. Their focus was unmatchable. A goblin in a room of treasure could count millions of coins with enthralled dedication. They could usually tell the weight of any precious material at a glance.  It was an impressive power to have.

She knew her boss had a few coins in his desk.  Had even grimaced at him, once, when his mind had gotten too loud while he rubbed a small sack of gold on his cock.  Thankfully, he'd had his eyes closed and hadn't noticed her annoyance.

She rather liked when he'd get off and take a nap for the rest of the day.  Dreams were always harder to read.  They didn't tend to drift out, willingly.  One had to actively pry.  So, whenever he fell asleep and most of her coworkers snuck out of the office, Queenie's mind had fewer thoughts to ignore.

No, she practically cheered her boss on through his orgasm, tilting her head this way and that since he always focused on her neck.  She had to bite back the urge to laugh as his thoughts turned jubilant when she forced herself to take exaggerated gulps of lukewarm coffee. As she went back to rolling her neck and rubbing it with with her fingers, his thoughts reminded her that he was an obnoxiously sweet man. He daydreamed about rubbing away the pain he assumed was in her shoulders. Almost lost the high of arousal at the worry that his precious Queenie Goldstein might be miserable.  Queenie switched to moaning with feigned pleasure at the -relief- her unnecessary neck rub gave her.  

Ah, that was the ticket.  

Orgasms sounded like blissed out babbling to a legilimens. The goblin's mind a shower of sparks and half-finished words. Thankfully, he'd been doing this so long it was a habit he no longer felt guilt about. Queenie was firmly in the "If you're gonna do wrong, you might as well enjoy it" camp and his gall was refreshing, to her. She sighed her own kind of relief when he was done and started to ignore him.  

She thought about Graves, her favorite distraction.  Perhaps, Queenie thought, it was a good time to make coffee.  Her boss never questioned her frequent disappearances, anyway.

Opening her senses, Queenie took the elevator to the ground floor.  If she could hear Tina, she'd be able to find out if Graves was still in the building.  Her sister had been promoted after the incident with Grindelwald to a position directly under the man.  Queenie had heard Graves's gratitude for Tina's work, on occasion.  Appreciated the man for having an appropriate amount of respect for her sister.

No matter what she might later find out about his home life or sex life if she kept prying, Queenie admired Percival's work ethic.

Instead of finding Tina in her office, a lady's room, a break room, or even the lobby, Queenie instead found Graves on the ground floor talking with another senior employee.  The other man, Mr. Palmer, laughed and made obvious attempts to endear himself to the Director of Magical Security.  He stood far too close and spoke in a low voice so Percival had to lean toward him. He even touched Percival's shoulder.  A friendly, perfectly normal sort of gesture.  

Queenie giggled to herself as she listened to Percival's offense at the audacity of this man.  Giggled more as she watched Percival look to his own shoulder and to the man's face with open shock, alerting the other employee to his crime.

Poor Mr. Palmer, looking fully embarrassed and even a little frightened, apologized.  Director Graves slowly sucked in a breath, let it fill his chest and stood straighter.  No longer bending low to listen, he stared at the man for a few more seconds.  His gaze unflinching and mouth a hard, unpleasant line.  He stood still, letting only his eyes follow Palmer as he edged and then practically ran away.  Queenie Goldstein wondered if she could watch Graves try to intimidate her without laughing.  His mind was literally just a list of intimidation tactics he'd read while training to be an auror. Non-violent ways to make people flee or overshare.  She'd heard similar instructions flutter through Tina's mind when they argued.

Queenie had trailed behind him towards the elevator after witnessing the interaction in the lobby.  His thoughts swerved quickly away from Palmer's over-familiarity to his own work.  He'd spared one thought for surprise at her joining him in the lift. Another thought for dread that she'd still insist on finding out if he were married.

"I'm going up," he said. Looking down at her and digging, again, for her name. It simply wasn't there.  Had he ever known it? Yes. In the courtroom. Who was this girl who wasn't Tina?  She smiled up at him in response. Graves looked away.  

Her name didn't really matter to him. Queenie could also sense that he didn't really care why she wasn't immediately going to the basement.  She thought it better not to try and explain.

It had annoyed her that no matter how often she smiled at him, he never seemed disarmed by it. She knew that, despite his love of men, he also liked women. Though she'd seen they were typically powerful ones. Did her job in the Permits department turn him off? Did he not consider her charm and femininity powerful? Most men seemed to fear she had too much power. Jacob practically worshiped her. It's made them all so fucking boring.

This man that could barely spare room for thoughts about her next to work and more work inspired her.  Made her want to watch his thoughts, all day, and look for all the cracks. Queenie wanted to know more about Percival's sex life. Was he really so sated that there was never any need for workplace distractions? Did he have a thing, specifically, for shoes? If they'd been in the elevator, alone, she might have asked him some kind of leading question.  She couldn't think of how to be tactful in front of the lift manager.

"Nice shoes, Queenie," the goblin said, cheerfully. Again, with a mind too frantic, this goblin didn't have much of a filter on his thoughts and actions. "Though I honestly prefer when you're shorter. Are flat shoes going out of style for dames?"

The Goblin's questions were a goldmine. She simply winked down at the man as he worked the lever to close the elevator door.  After all, she didn't want to interrupt what she'd seen pop into Graves's head when he thought about her shoes, again.

The hazy film of imagination flickered over Graves's thoughts. He pictured her rushing ahead of him. Her heels clacking quickly on the pavement. She was running. Giving terrified glances over her bare shoulders.  Beaded tendrils on the red dress he imagined her in, clacking against on another.  What was she trying to escape? Her heel snapped. Queenie fought not to cringe at the way her ankle bent in Percival's head before he watched her body crumple. Empathy made her real, left ankle twinge with imagined injury. Graves swooped in to catch her. She'd only had a moment to feel shock that he'd imagine saving her.

No.

The man had imagined pouncing on her like a lion moving in to gore the life from defenseless prey.  Percival's arousal bloomed in Queenie's mind.  Filling the elevator with stifling heat. He didn't like powerful women, it seemed.  He liked bringing them down to where he thought they belonged.  ...imagined Queenie was already there, by design.  Merlin and gods, Queenie could feel her nipples tighten beneath the uncomfortably stiff fabric of her, cheap brassiere. If only she could afford more than one silk one.

Was Percival Graves's undivided attention about to become another perk of her reputation?  She had to keep the reality of her power hidden, anyway.

As the elevator left the first floor, Graves shifted his hips to to the side, his thoughts concerned that picturing himself ripping the stockings off of the body next to him was going to make him hard. Queenie was practically holding her breath. How far would his fantasy go? Would he imagine himself pressing into her? Her sobbing for him to stop?  Could she pretend to be sufficiently scandalized if he touched her, right now?

Would he?

Glad of her more discreet anatomy, Queenie felt the first tremors of her own arousal.  Graves was imagining her shocked cries for help.  The images nearly pressing into her like the cock he was trying admirably to hide.  Aurors were skilled at memory modification and the exercise made their minds particularly vivid, for her.  Thankfully, the only auror she spent a significant amount of time around was her do-gooder sister, Tina.  Yes, Tina thought about sex but the hazy film of imagined thoughts gave the scenes a delightful and, thankfully distracting, sort of filigreed screen she could barely see through. Queenie never had to endure the monotony of Tina thinking about riding Newt Scamander to a chorus of light sighs.

She'd never told her sweet sister that Newt preferred taking himself in hand to the company of others.  That the best sex Newt had ever known was the one time a prostitute in Dubai had saddled his back like a horse.

Graves's well-trained mind was almost unbearably vivid.  She could see everything. Practically feel his pleasure as if she had a cock, herself. He pictured himself shoving a thumb into her mouth as he cupped her chin with his hand. He dug his fingernails into her jawline.  The imagined Queenie started to cry.  Big, heavy tears that slid quickly into her messy hair.  The real Queenie bit her bottom lip.

He caught the movement and the scene fell apart.  Queenie tried not to groan with frustration.  She hadn't realized how much the fantasy was pleasuring her body until it was gone.  Could she cum just from watching him fantasize?

Percival, for the first time, watched her body.  His hyperawareness overwhelming.  He thought that she seemed uncomfortable.  That she fidgeted. Flexed her fingers. Bit her lip. Rubbed her thighs, together. At each movement he noticed, Queenie fought to still her body.  To stand up straighter and look less nervous. God, she'd been so close to seeing what he'd do to her once she was laid out on a sidewalk with her stockings hanging in jagged ribbons around her legs and her skirt pushed up to her waist. She wanted to rip her clothes off and offer herself up to him right in the elevator. To hell with their goblin witness.

Would Graves fuck her, if she offered? At least kiss her? Hate himself for compromising a work relationship like he had with President Picquery? ...or was Queenie not important enough to inspire regret?  She felt pleasurably heated by the idea that he would consider her only a lowly fuck.  Unworthy of further attention or even respect.  She'd spent her entire life being praised.  Craved his desperation to get off and his lack of regard for her feelings.  What a pleasure it would be to finally bed a man that could grind himself into her without hoping he could make her fall in love via his cock.  What a pleasure to not have to deal with self-conscious worries and apprehension about the future.

The mind of Percival Graves existed in the moment.  He had a skill for compartmentalizing.  It was the same skill that helped Jacob do meaningless work for years with a smile on his face and a dream in his heart.  She loved men that could make their minds be what they needed to be for the situation at hand.  No bullshit.

Queenie heard Percival noting, again, that she seemed odd.  Ill, even. Heard him decide that he wouldn't touch a woman that appeared so nauseated by something as simple as an elevator ride. Heard him think how mortifying it would be for sex to induce some kind of base, bodily function.  Heard him list the order of his repulsion by each process. Urination the least repulsive and with a question mark about whether or not he wanted to piss on another human being. An indication that he'd never tried it.

Queenie devoured the information, hungrily.  She'd let a man like him do absolutely anything to her.

The elevator reached Percival's floor and, before stepping off, he turned to her.  Opened his mouth to speak and then shut it.  He opened his mouth, again, obviously considering his words.  Queenie made her face inquisitive to avoid reacting to this thoughts. "Have you been drinking Mrs...?"

"Queenie, sir," she finally corrected him.  Amused by his relief at finally filling the hole where her name had been. She decided to lie. "Yes, but only a little and with lunch."

Percival sighed.  His posture somehow relaxing, slightly.  It hadn't been the elevator ride that made her squirm and she was discreet enough to not show up smelling of booze. "It's not a good idea during the workday, Mrs... Queenie."

She watched his heavy eyebrows furrow.  Heard, in his mind, that he hated saying her name.  

"Is that, a nickname?" Percival asked.  He scowled at the shake of her head.  Though he noted that her hair wasn't as bouncy as he imagined.  She wondered how that would play into future fantasies.  Whether or not he'd have future fantasies involving her.

"I'll answer to Miss Goldstein, Directer," she responded with a smile.  Her smile broadened when he internally scoffed at the idea that he'd ever need to call on her.  He thought she looked crazed.  She widened her smile even more to see the discomfort on his face.

Much to her amusement, Percival grimaced.

"Perhaps you should go home, Miss Goldstein," he said. "If your superior questions you, tell them it's a direct order from me."

"Will I need to come to your office for a write-up?" she asked.  Expectantly.  Knew that she looked eager but hoped he'd blame the liquor she hadn't actually had.  He did.

"Uh, no offense sir, but I've gotta get back to the lobby..." the Goblin piped up, behind them.  Queenie didn't show, on her face, that she felt annoyed he'd addressed Percival as if she wasn't there.

"No write-up," Graves said as he stepped out into the hall. His mind already growing bored with the situation and shifting back to what work he needed to finish before the end of the day. "If no one asks, just let this be our secret."

Queenie felt his mind note that she was a good conspirator.  Like Credence. Like Tina.  What he'd expected to be months of rumors and whispers at work had been business as usual because the people that witnessed his courtroom humiliation hadn't bothered to start spreading gossip.  He didn't respect her, but thought she was perfect for the cards life had dealt her.

She found it confusingly endearing that Percival Graves seemed to view her the way lords viewed their best servants.  It felt practically archaic for a man to look at a modern woman as immediately beneath him... but somehow thrilling to be considered the best of the bottom.

 


End file.
